So, you want something unique and different, right? This is it. This is not your typical girl meets boy winning the joy character hopping plot wrapping sweetie flick bit. This is an analytical look at a book, bookings, and crooks. As well as some… Gods.
Here for you is an excerpt from, chapter 10, enjoy. On podcast.
All for one and one for all, that was the way how they crawl, it was the premise upon which they had stood up tall. They had pledged this to each other from the very opener, and for some of them, this was the right call. Well, for at least one of them. It would have served him well in the end, or more like, near the end of him. Or did it?
Jolly and young were the dividing night. Got things here to divide and to share-up right.But that was not going to be this time, golden treasures make the eyes go blind, at least some of the times. And this here time! This was going to be one of those sparse sometimes.
It was to have happened when comes the time. In a little while, it would have been time to divide the looted spoils. Built upon this mantra, they would have ventured out and prospered, even if it was to be for a short while, they would have prospered, and in style. But then, upon one glorious return back home again, with all of the loot which they'd earned and win while hopping and popping out and around in circulars den.
There sat them down, readying themselves to go to town. Jolly and young were the dividing night. Got things here to divide and to share-up right. But that was not going to be this time, golden treasures make the eyes go blind, at least some of the times. And this here time! This was going to be one of those sparse sometimes.
Sitting all there in a rounded line, just like it's done every return home time, Kingsley was to begin to do his thing, as always, the share starts and ends with him. He would have begun a-counting on. This is mine, this is mine, -this is yours. To the other man on the other side of him. He began to count the very same sin: this is mine, this is mine, -this is yours.
Before one could sneak in a pacified word, came the chinks and the swash from battle-tried swords, thirsting for the blood of the Kingsley sort, out of him who had now transgressed the established art, and had dared to despise the ritual rites. The dirt will bite you -Kingsley. Upon this night. But…
Reprieve, reprieve. The king knew his sleeve. He knew him very well indeed. The face of the man in whose hand was the sword, drawn in anger at the head of his lord, it belonged to him who once had saved his life. And would have proven his worth, value and might, no blood-letting, -aid the king, no more bloodletting no, not tonight.
Before the night’s end, and all was done. They would have hugged around and passion tossed down. “You are a good man,” he would have said, you deserve a better deal than you were being dealt. “How about us calling it quits and done,” comes the rolling chuckles, off of Kingsley’s tongue, “it was merely fun,” now, we are even. Son.
All for one and one for all was in his soul, this is how this current Kingsley roll, he had a plan when he would have knelt himself down, in the treasure ring around his throne, and beside the pile of the looted things, silver, gold, diamond, rings, rubies were moody and could not sing, and yet all manner of other precious jewelry things.
“Nobody touch anything here until I'm done done,” he would have commanded them squares, unlike how it was known to be done afore-times fair, like, when he would have gone in first and would have parted the pile with a clawed rod or any other such parting device bad, and based sometimes upon how large a pile, or even on the sort of hardware spoils.
This time, however, he was playing the clever. He would have gone in firstly yes, and would have carefully counted out the mess, or measure it out, handful after armful of the looted treasure, and placing each in a heap by itself, each man’s measure.
The kid never did, like, he never did say a word nor acted in any threatening ways nerd. But… He would have been riding out his last night there atop his own grave light.
He would have warned them earlier that no man should venture in, to take his portion before he was all over and be done. As opposed to how it was done in the past times when. After he was done with taking his portion. Each man would dig in, and try and outdo each other to come up with the biggest bite out of what remains of the stolen apple pie. Oh no babe, don’t cry.
Two or more people were obviously angered by this, at the king’s bad manner, Mister Quick-silver temper, and the kid. The kid though, unlike how it was for the “Quickly one-flow,” the kid never did, like, he never did say a word nor acted in any threatening ways nerd.
He just remained put right there where he had laid him squared, backed up against the board in a corner bored, and wearing a stone-cold sword upon his armor cord, and an indignant stare out of a gaze-ward fear, a cord that could cut a man through, like a blistering word, of anger. But. He would have been riding out his last night there atop his own grave light. When all was said and done, he would have feared worst off, than Mister Quickly-one, but not for very long.
The King would have walked around, and continue doing the routine in front of each person presently not too clean, and then do it again, until it was all done. Well, not quite done, some drama was left yet to come, and it would have been coming and be really happening before we got up to the done, yes, that part of it, as we have come to know the spit-splitting word.
As it was to be revealed later on in the nest of the cockpit bird. It was all a test on the part of the king's jest, just to see where their heart wants to be best, and probably it would be found to be with him. Best thing. No better position for a man to be found in, than on the right side of the king.
How art thou, oh haughty Hartland from out of the Hart lands? The king's right-hand man. That said Hartland one, he did almost get his right hand chopped off. Or the left part of his best heart, or both. Or more like, have his ear bitten and written off.
That was to have happened when he would have ventured to wit-talk some senseless nonsense into his friends’ chalk. And try to bring him back to some semblance of real smarts, and Kingsley reality, really. And of saneness, Neilie.
“Your Highness,” he would have jest, “if you don't mind me saying.” He was heard to be spraying the corrective sayings, “I think that the boys…” yes, yes, yes Hartland, I do mind, and speaking of "mind," that is what you need to be doing, mind your own damned business and leave me alone to get along with mine. Now, who else amongst the bunch of you? Which one of you might have a bright idea here? Let him speak it now, or shut the trap up and let me get along with my business.
Looking around now, still, he would have looked each man down, the hill, looking him squarely in the eyes brown. Or in yet eye colors unknown. But a response was not to be found. Now, since no one has anything left to say, quit wasting my time here, and obey, let's get this done and be done. So said he, while clasping down a heavy freshly washed dirty hand on his dust-filled short pants knee.
Bending down again, he would have picked up another round, a haughty hand full of the most valuable pieces from among them bull, and clasp it firmly in a mean fist pull, just like this, he then gave the hiss, the hissing biting snake sign kiss.
This is mine, it’s all mine, all of it, wielding the same frightful fist all over it. He would have spewed yet more kingly spit.“It is all mine,” Kingsley king's teeth were to further grind. I do with it whatever I please, and if it pleases me to keep it all to myself, that is what I will do -Paul Phelps. If it pleases me to give it all away to some poor old widow, somewhere out there by the Bay. That's what I'll do, -okay? If I say you all get a third part to split up amongst you, then a third part is what it's going to be, now, who is the man amongst you to overrule me on that?
The answer was late in getting to the come. Or maybe each man had was to first, go fix up his tongue. It never did, that answer, it never came. Must have been a prayer night hack, picked up from one of the Lars' tribal rites swat, perhaps, because like, because, there never was such quietness in an occupied rooming mess before the king’s vest, before. Not anywhere in the kingdom, nor in a city four squared sure. He was done with the talking, it was now time to finish the walking, and continue on to get through, with what he had started to do.
Slowly, he would have stepped over and through the piles of shiny glistening treasures and blue, as he went on to do what he was about to do, before he was rudely interrupted by the mal-aligned maladjusted, the crew.
Now, the dividing will go on strident. Spread out there across the floor was the door to all that they never had before. Kingsley would have wobbled his way between them clay, and walked back up to the places where he had been sitting say, before.
He was to then pick up again his crook crooked divine dividing stick of the crooks, and proceeded to pull heaps after heaps of the "this is yours" piles of loots toward him until, he was to smile again because… Ardent, he was all done. And yet, no man would have spoken a word off of his tongue.
Whatever speaking was left in any of them would have taken a stumble, tumbling down and fallen through the sword all the way down to the floor humbled, along with each man's own jawbone bundle, well, so it would have seemed, but, not for all of them. Nah.
The kid would have up and ran from the room as if someone had lit up the spoon, or more like, like, light up a fire-pan somewhere near that place there where he sits, all night long, or up until that point of the plan when he would have got himself up, and ran.
They were to find him late that night, just on the outer peripheries of the meeting room light, riding away upon the pointed points of his own sword of grey, not too bright, and bowing himself down over a pool of crimson red blood. Oh! Good gripe.
Mister Quickly one wasn't too far behind him on the ride home, sickly. The only difference with him was to be that, he would have taken a more familiar route, out. Lying himself down squarely upon his own feather bed in his own house, but. But he probably never did spoke a single word to a living soul from the night of the drawn sword, until the departure out a mere two weeks later. Now. Don’t forsake her. You know, his partner!
Before we get there though, there is unfinished business to tend to. Kingsley the King would have taken out the third parts from among the glitz, the part which everybody there was convinced was to be their parts of the gifts, well, he would have given them that impression, when at the first he went on the mission.
His friend though, that said Hartland bro from out of the Hart lands row, he was sitting there as was the customary chair, wearing a cheeky smile on his fashion bile in the process of the revealing style. Probably… that was probably because that was the very thing which he had wanted to say to the king, while he was there doing the dividing sin.
After all, even with the third parts going to him in the call, Kingsley’s third would have amounted and be heard to be the equivalent to however many of those men were there in that room, there and then. Whilst each man's net take would have been piling up on his plate to be equivalent to his own cut of the bakes, plus one.
The matter was settled good and done, those who were good, would be settling home gooder, and be found much better able to deliver kingly biscuit dipper, while those who were found to be not, would have been gone and done, flat. Into thy kingdom come slot. Mister King, Kingsley king, and his sons.
Now let’s sing along, to the Kingsley song: Kingsley, Kingsley, Kingsley and his sons.